


Moving on while being stuck

by Banashee



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [19]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton-centric, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Battle of New York (Marvel), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Natasha Romanov, References to Depression, Survivor Guilt, Team Bonding, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: "(...)Clint knows how to hurt and kill people, and he’s good at it. It is not something that comes to him naturally, but he’s done whatever he had to in order to survive for most of his life. Punching, shooting or stabbing his way out of a situation is something he could do half asleep by now. When SHIELD hired him as their asset, it had been a big step up from other, way more shady jobs. The memories of those days still leave him sleepless with guilt, even more than a decade later.But Clint has never knowingly or willingly laid a hand on innocent people. That is, until Loki deemed him worthy for his plans and scrambled his brain without as much as the touch of a staff.(...)"*+~Part 19 of my Bad Things Happen BingoSquare: "Survivor's guilt"
Relationships: Clint Barton & Avengers Team, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701046
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Moving on while being stuck

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> so, because I love a good writing challenge, I'm now taking a part in the Bad Things Happen Bingo.  
> https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/  
> Please mind the tags!
> 
> I'm cross-posting this to my tumblr, https://banashee.tumblr.com
> 
> This is my nineteenth square: "Survivor's guilt".

****

**Moving on while being stuck**

Ironically enough, after waking up from being mind controlled and being partially responsible for almost ending the world, Clint’s first thought is that he should be dead. 

It is his fault, at least he thinks so, that New York is in shambles. People are either dead, hurt, or at the very least terrified out of their minds. Giant aliens gliding through buildings like a knife through butter - screaming. 

Oh god, the screaming. It’s burned into his brain and keeps him up at night, trembling and nauseous. The screams of terrified civilians haunt him, and he can’t drown them out. Even when he lies in the dark, hearing aids on the bedside table and unable to make out the rustling of blankets or the low sound of his own breath - the screams echo in his mind for hours.

Clint has never been good with shaking off the suffering of innocent people. It stays with him, long after a battle has ended, despite his job and despite the fact that he himself if capable of levels of violence that most human beings are simply not equipped for. 

Clint knows how to hurt and kill people, and he’s good at it. It is not something that comes to him naturally, but he’s done whatever he had to in order to survive for most of his life. Punching, shooting or stabbing his way out of a situation is something he could do half asleep by now. When SHIELD hired him as their asset, it had been a big step up from other, way more shady jobs. The memories of those days still leave him sleepless with guilt, even more than a decade later. 

But Clint has never knowingly or willingly laid a hand on innocent people. That is, until Loki deemed him worthy for his plans and scrambled his brain without as much as the touch of a staff. 

Clint wishes he was dead, but he is very much alive, although running on fumes. 

The minutes (or hours? He really doesn’t know) he was unconscious after Nat knocked him out on the bridge have been the first time he's been asleep in days. Those days he spent mind controlled leaves him jittery and exhausted. It’s not like Loki really cared for the human shells of those he turned. Although he doesn’t have any proof aside from his own feelings and spotty memories, Clint is very much convinced that he and Eric Selvig and all the other nameless, faceless people have been forced to keep going and held upright and alive by nothing but magic. Days without sleep or food take its toll on human beings, and it catches up to him fast. 

Needless to say, Clint is exhausted, hungry and hurting all over, but there is no time to dwell on any of it. When Captain America knocks on the door and tells you to suit up, you do. No questions asked. 

So he walks out of there and fights off the alien attack that he is partially responsible for. Even when he is about to shut down, his body keeps moving through nothing but sheer spite and will power, and Clint fights like never before. 

The grip on his bow is strong, as it always is, fingers flexing with impatience as he thinks of putting an arrow right through Loki’s eye socket, wiping the smug grin off the bastards face and Clint doesn’t hesitate.

He doesn’t get to take his personal revenge, but he still fights with everything he’s got. 

It’s the least he can do, and if it kills him then so be it. 

Clint walks into the battle alongside a group of people he doesn't think he belongs to, but when he tells Natasha this later that night, she just scoffs and tells him to stop overthinking. If he wasn’t so goddamn tired of everything he’d laugh - he is either overthinking all the time or not thinking at all - there really is no in between with him and Natasha knows it. 

But Clint knows that she means well, so he just nods and agrees halfheartedly without any intentions of taking care of himself. Whatever horrors wait for him, he quietly vows to deal with it and not bother anyone. 

‘ _You don’t deserve the comfort_.’ the icy cold voice in the back of his head whispers, and that alone is almost enough to leave him shaking again. 

Natasha watches him from the side, not even bothering to hide the fact that she’s keeping a close eye on him. Nat is suspicious of his easy agreement to take it easy, and rightfully so. They have known each other for too many years to be able to keep up any false pretense. 

Clint can't stop thinking that he should have died, if only to spare the world the horrors he helped bring on to it. 

He wakes up around noon the next day, feeling guilty for waking up at all. Nausea rises up in his throat and a dull pain hammers through his entire body - most of all the headache, which is probably the concussion that Nat gave him to knock Loki out of his brain.

Clint forces himself to get up and get into the bathroom. He’s on his knees and dry heaving into the toilet just seconds later, and nothing but bile comes out. He hasn’t eaten in - well, not since before his watch shift on base in New Mexico before everything went to shit, then nothing but water for days, and then picking a bit on the shawarma before deciding it would be better to _not_ be sick all over the place. 

Nat doesn’t deserve to deal with this mess on top of everything else, and neither does the rest of the team, because they seem like decent people. Genuinely nice even, as far as Clint can tell with his fuzzy mind and questionable social skills. 

So he picks at his plate, eating just enough so it looks like he’s trying, but he stops soon. His stomach is revolting by then. 

What little he managed to force down then, he’s now losing just after waking up. 

Disgusted and exhausted once again, Clint strips out of his clothes and steps into the shower. While he is standing under the hot spray of water, the room fogs up and the mist wavers all around the place. Despite being hot as hell, it leaves him shaking and suddenly everything is blue and cold and freezing and Clint slides down onto the floor. Water keeps running all over him, scalding hot but he doesn't feel it as he's shaking apart and gasping for breath. 

It’s the first time he’s alone and in private in way too long, so he doesn’t give a shit how much time he spends panicking on the shower floor. 

When he slowly gets back to himself, the water is still hot because Stark Tower tech, and it doesn’t help the throbbing headache he now has from crying. 

It’s not like he’s able to hear himself without the SHIELD issued hearing aids and no one else is in the room with him, so that’s okay. 

But Clint stays there, sitting in the shower for even longer, once again wishing he’d died.

Thankfully or unfortunately, depending on who you would ask, he’s too tired to do anything about it. 

Clint can't eat. He wants to, kind of. But just the smell of anything edible is too much for him right now, so he leaves it be. 

_'You shouldn't be alive to eat anything. You don't deserve it. Thousands of people are dead because of you and won't ever eat anything at all. You don't deserve to be here.'_

The mean voice in the back of his mind keeps whispering, and yes, he thinks, it's true. 

Staying here really isn't something he wants to do right now, but he doesn't want to go outside and see the damage, either. 

Clint is still staying in the Tower, not SHIELD. 

It is a safe place and at least here, unlike the helicarrier or New York office, people don’t look at him like he’s about to murder them all.

They’re right to do so, and Clint is more than sure that he deserves every single glare and insult thrown his way. But it hurts, and he’s so tired of it all - when Tony offers him a place to lay low he doesn’t has to think twice and takes him up on it. 

If he's completely honest with himself, he didn't think Tony was serious when he offered everyone a standing invitation to crash there whenever, given that this was right after the battle, adrenaline dropping and eating shawarma. 

But as it turns out, he really is offering them all a safe place to crash, for however long they want to (“Just move in whenever, might as well. There is plenty of space, with and without holes in the walls and floor.” Tony had shrugged and went right back to shoveling french fries into his mouth and occasionally slapping out sparks that fly from his suit as if all of this is no big deal at all. To him, it either isn’t, or he is too far away, mind still stuck in space. Clint understands a little bit about that, and just hums non committedly.)

It’s been weeks since the battle, and Clint is… Not okay, to put it lightly. He’s hiding a lot, keeping to himself and they let him. 

Natasha seeks him out sometimes, to drag him out and into the company of other human beings. He can’t remember her ever being this social, and he’s not entirely sure if she’s doing this because she thinks it might help him, or because she’s growing fond of the team. When he asks her some time, Nat gives a small but honest smile and simply says,

“Both.”

Sooner or later, Clint socialises a little bit with the others without being dragged out of his quarters. They’re all happy to chat with him or cook, clean their weapons or just share a space on silence. Clint finds himself liking these people, and well, it is kind of terrifying. 

Steve is polite and kind, a little bit lost really, once he’s out of his uniform and trying to scrape by in this new and modern world. He’s curious with a sense of wonder that reminds them all of how young he really is, and when he’s finally comfortable enough to drop his walls, they get along beautifully.

Clint knows the risk their Captain took willingly when he asked him to join the team in this battle, and he is not entirely sure how he could ever thank him for it. 

Thor isn’t around much, what with him travelling back and forth through the planets, but he is a good man and fun to be around. Clint had been a little bit scared that he’d remind him of Loki all the time, but he’s proven wrong soon. Thor is his own person, and loyal to a fault to those around him. 

It doesn’t take long for Clint to look at him and simply see a friend instead of anything else. 

Bruce hides a lot in the lab, and Clint understands that, too - he doesn’t bother him, until one day the scientist catches him in the elevator and chats to him about - what even was it again? he doesn’t remember - all the way down and Clint just finds himself walking with him, until they’re back in the labs. Part of him wants to leave and let Bruce get back to work in peace, but he’s got such a nice and calming presence to him that Clint just finds himself walking along and hanging out in the back of the lab, that day and on occasion ever since.

When Tony walks in a while later, he doesn’t blink and eye at Clint being there and simply pulls a third mug from the cupboard. Then he starts to brew a pot of coffee that’s strong enough to wake the dead. 

The thing with Tony is, he’s surprisingly easy to get along with, as long as one can deal with constant chatter, cheesy puns, casual poking every once in a while and dirty jokes. That and coffee that sends most people into cardiac arrest. Brewed by the man with heart issues himself. 

If anyone asks, it’s that last part that wins Clint over to him in the first place.

In the privacy of his own mind he knows that this actually happened way before that. It was the second that Tony, exhausted, hurt and dirty like the rest of them, opened up his own home to a group of near-strangers without a thought and never asking for anything in return. 

Natasha is Natasha. She is his other half and Clint loves her dearly just for existing. The two of them have been through too much together to be anything less than they are, and no matter how hard things are, they still have each other. 

Having lost Phil wrecked Natasha just as much as Clint, and the thought nearly losing him as well sends cold dread down her spine. The two of them remain close, and when the nights are cold and lonely, there is always a warm body to crawl close to. 

They can’t always be in the same place - but they know, the other is just a phone call away.

Clint is not alone by any means, but despite everything, he still feels lonely. On those days, he can’t find it in him to reach out to the person next to him, to say anything or touch them in an attempt to find ground to stand on. Messy thoughts eat him up from the inside, and despite being physically present, his brain clocks out.

In the back of his mind, there is always that mean voice, whispering to him how he doesn’t deserve any of the company or support, how he should just go and eat a bullet instead. 

On a particularly bad day, Clint just leaves the tower instead of sitting there and feeling alone in a room full of people. 

He doesn’t think about where he’s going, but his feet carry him to central park.

The air is fresh here, what with fall coming up, but Clint is still wearing sunglasses in an attempt to casually hide himself away. Without the uniform, no one looks twice at him, and he is relieved for it. He doesn’t have the desire or energy to deal with anything right now. Clint doesn’t really look where he is going, despite the repair works still going on in the city.

Suddenly, something hits him in the head and the shades get knocked off his nose. Clint nearly flinches, but no blows follow, and the hit wasn’t nearly as hard as any attack he’d expect would be.

Just a second later, a small voice calls,

“Oh no! I’m very, sorry, Mister!” 

Clint blinks confused, then a small boy with wild curls and big dark eyes appears in his field of vision, a group of other kids on the grass near him. A colorful ball is lazily bouncing near Clint on the floor. His sunglasses are not far away, either. He picks up both items, and lightly throws the ball back to the child approaching him.

“No problem, kiddo. Have fun,” How on earth he manages a genuine smile, he doesn’t know. But then again, he’s always had a soft spot for kids - animals, too. 

The boy grins brightly and waves a quick thanks while calling out,

“Thank you! Have a nice day!” and runs back to his friends, hurling the ball in their direction and then they continue their game. 

Clint walks along and doesn't think much of the interaction. Except, his thoughts then suddenly run wild.

What if this kid had been killed due to him? What if any of the other children there, or any of their families had died in the battle, what if they _have_ , and he just doesn’t know?

‘ _I should have died. I should be dead. I should have died. Not them. Me. I should be dead right now._ ’

The words echo in his mind again and again, hammering inside of his head and it leaves him breathless. Clint stumbles to a bench and sits down, arms propped up on his knees, eyes locked onto the floor at first and then squeezed shut.

He’s shaking, and the heart in his chest is racing enough to hurt. Is he having a heart attack? 

Thoughts keep running wild and he can’t grasp any clear conclusions. Cold sweat is running down his back, soaking his shirt and cause it to cling uncomfortably to his skin. Logically, he knows he’s having a panic attack, but the fear in his throat sits there, hot and overwhelming. 

For a moment, he thinks he might have to throw up again, but then, he doesn’t want to do any of this in public and _oh fuck_ why did he leave the tower in the first place?

“Breathe, Clint. Keep breathing, you’re okay.”

A small but familiar hand slowly reaches out, and he takes it into his own, violently shaking ones. Natasha keeps talking to him, and her grip is firm, reassuring. Safe. _Home_. 

Clint is so happy that she’s here, he doesn’t even asks how she knows where he’d be. Maybe she just followed him. It is entirely possible and something she’d do in a heartbeat if she’s got even a hint of a reason. This is admittedly more than just a hint though.

“‘m fine.” he forces out, and it sounds hollow even to himself. He wants to reach out further, hug her or simply hide, but he won’t. Not here, not now.

It’s not fair that she keeps having to come after him to save his sorry ass, he thinks. But good luck suggesting that to Nat. 

She does whatever she wants, and if that includes taking care of her best friend and dragging him home when his own legs would probably give out under him if he tried on his own, who is he to stop her from it? 

Clint doesn’t have it in him to argue, and he doesn’t want to, either. 

“Come on.” says Natasha, when his breathing has finally calmed enough for her to be comfortable to pull him up and wrap an arm around his waist, 

“Let’s go home.”

  
  
  
  


*+~

Square: Survivor's guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> \- PTSD / Panic attacks  
> \- Depression  
> \- Survivor's guilt  
> \- Suicidal thoughts  
> \- Passively suicidal character  
> \- violence  
> \- implied killing of people on the job  
> \- insomnia  
> \- Mind control via magic aka Loki  
> \- vomiting  
> \- food issues


End file.
